


Dulce et Decorum est

by hitlikehammers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two souls adrift, on the eve of War. <b>General Series Spoilers through Season Six of Lost; General Series Spoilers through Season Six of Supernatural.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dulce et Decorum est

**Author's Note:**

> I knew I wanted to write you something with these two just before Castiel goes into the Pit to save Dean; from there, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I hope this is an acceptable result to that end.

_Folly_ , is the word on his tongue, thrumming through his Being beyond the mortal coil, beyond the wrath of demons and devils, within the Body of the Lord. Castiel accepts the rage, the doubts; does not falter, and does not condemn.

There is distance between them, a growing distance that has been slowly stretching, widening like the parting of hearts and minds, formless and profound, and it weighs his wings, the soul of him; leaden, and he fears the Fall ever more as the gap yawns, as it seeps too wide, reminds him of the losses he’s faced, that they all have faced.

He feels the scorn, the shame wrap around him, takes Balthazar’s disdain, lets him sneer: _fool’s errand, death wish, useless, waste_. He bows his head and allows for the words to spiral, to buffet him against the breeze, to slow the descent as he tumbles, oscillates where nothing is sacred or sound.

The violence, the venom dies, as it does, often -- Balthazar is radiance, a Protector at his core; Castiel is not so blind as to believe that Balthazar cares so little, to overlook the truth of an anger misplaced, a rage misguided and consumed.

And Castiel is strong enough to weather that storm, for the passion that thrums between them, the will that stirs them both; it is an acceptable weight.

 _You cannot_, Balthazar decalres, a plea, and Castiel can feel the intimacy, can Sense what it costs his companion to make it known, and it pains him all the more to have to stand against that concern and name it less than worthy.

 _It is God’s will_ , Castiel proclaims, knows it will cut, will meet with Hate, but he cannot be less than he is. He _will_ not.

And Balthazar, he shudders, shakes the foundations of more worlds than he knows when he speaks a truth close to his heart; one that Castiel will never see, never accept inside his own: _The will of a God like ours, living or dead, is not worth the price of your soul._

Castiel withers, is diminished with the slight, the blow: the Light of him flickering, his Wings shuddering, his cover, his God under siege within Himself, within them All -- flesh and Spirit spun as One, and Castiel is still Bound, still devoted, still _loyal_ to a Creator, a Father who he believes, above all, still _loves_ them.

Castiel will risk _everything_ for that faith.

And Balthazar, he sees it, knew it before, but cannot deny: he flashes, heat before he shrinks, before he draws close to Castiel and wraps his Grace around him, keeps him safe without words, without promises or places where they must concede, where they must lose themselves to gain each other, and this close, this _deep_ within one another: here, he can See Balthazar’s mind, here he throbs with the weight of his pain, his fear -- the agonies that disbelief has wrought upon him: the smote of Wings upon the flames of Hell.

 _I must_, Castiel murmurs, leans into the touch, the brush of Eternity against him, so smooth and endless that it burns, breaks, and he relishes it, keeps it close: a cloak, impervious, before he opens himself to the fray.

 _I hope that He is worth it_ , Balthazar breathes, echoes inside Oblivion, and Castiel hears what he doesn’t utter, doesn’t cast to the Winds.

_I hope He is worth what I wasn’t._

Castiel breathes, and plunges into the deep.

He doesn’t have to hope.


End file.
